


Hell Hath No Fury Like a Woman Scorned

by dem_hips



Category: Tiger & Bunny
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-13
Updated: 2011-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-12 02:13:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dem_hips/pseuds/dem_hips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pre-series look into how Nathan Seymour came to Sternbild.  Based off an RP but stands more or less alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hell Hath No Fury Like a Woman Scorned

Nathan had been enjoying himself, in the calm way that solitary exploration of an exciting new place provided, before running into the stranger who called himself Kotetsu T. Kaburagi. Up until now it had felt merely like an aura, filling him and surrounding him, the hope of possibilities and unpredictable occurrences. Now, with the mere sureness of Kotetsu’s existence, the near tangible fact of his number stored in Nathan’s phone, there was the feeling that even in the off-chance something went wrong in the next couple of hours, he would at least still have this.

He reached the steps of Firebird Energy, shadowed by the large Phoenix statue standing guard over them and peered up at it. From far away it had seemed appropriately majestic, the gilded creature reflecting late morning sunlight filtering in through the smog of the city, its watchful eyes keen and gleaming. Closer up, the statue seemed dull, somehow, gold leaf worn away in patches, the eyes reupholstered with some other off-color metal. Inexplicably, it gave him a certain sense of uneasiness.

It was not until then that he gave off any outward indication of genuine nerves. He tucked the envelope under his arm and tugged on the bottom of his suit so it lay flat and sleek over his stomach, against his sides. Tugged at the ends of his sleeves, one at a time, so they hit just the right points on his wrists. Smoothed his lapels, brushed off the front of his trousers.

And then, envelope back in hand, he took a deep, calming breath and pushed through the large double doors beneath the watchful but cataracted eyes of Firebird Energy’s Phoenix.

He had a warm smile prepared for the receptionist at the front desk, and she, in turn, was ready to completely ignore him. Nathan and his smile waited, resting one arm lightly on her counter, while she looked busy typing something into her computer. Eventually, she glanced up with a great deal of reluctance to find, to her annoyance, that neither his expression nor his stance had wavered.

“… _Yes_?” she drawled in a bored tone, realizing he was not going to go away until she acknowledged him.

“Good morning,” he greeted her, excruciatingly pleasantly, she thought, for the hour of the day. “My name is Nathan Seymour.” He extended a hand, waiting for her to introduce herself. She didn’t, instead blinking up at him with the clear opinion that he was out of his mind. “And you are…?” he prompted, smile morphing into a curious expression.

The receptionist stared at him a couple moments longer before rolling her eyes and sighing. “Chanel. Jessup,” she told him, flatly, not taking his proffered hand.

“A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Jessup,” he replied, the words spoken too warmly to be taken as simply formulaic. He did let his hand drop back on the counter, though, once it became perfectly clear she had no intention of shaking it. “I’m here to see Mr. Edwards,” he told her. “I—”

“Guest book’s right here,” she interrupted, indicating with a hand while the other scratched at the short, bleached-blonde hairs at the back of her head with a pen.

“Ah.” Letting his smile fade a bit, Nathan busied himself with filling in his name, time in, appointment time, and Mr. Edwards’s name with an available pen. He then turned to take a seat on one of the two chairs in the small reception area, to wait.

“…Mr. Seymour?”

He turned, after only a few steps, to find the guest book in Chanel’s hand, covering her face. “You’re not here for that interview, are you?” Eyes dyed an icy blue with colored contacts glanced up at him over the top of the book.

“Yes…?”

“You’re a half an hour early.”

“I’m perfectly willing to wait until Mr. Edwards is ready to see me,” he promised, drawing his smile back up.

Something flickered across her eyes as she sighed and returned the guest book to the corner of her counter. The rest of her face was filled with a deep frown. “You don’t want this job, Mr. Seymour,” she said, sounding serious and almost pitying. “You ought to go find a better company to work for.”

His smile, finally, fell. “…Excuse me?” She was the receptionist for this company, the first face and voice and words guests received upon entering Firebird Energy’s grand (albeit somewhat dilapidated) building. She played a vital role in the company’s image. What in the world was she saying this for?

“I said y’oughta find another interview somewhere else. This isn’t the place for guys like you.”

Nathan’s face darkened with confusion, insult, and a little dread that he couldn’t help feeling. “I’m afraid you may be mistaken, Ms. Jessup,” he replied coolly, despite his best efforts to remain perfectly calm.

She shrugged, suddenly unconcerned again. “Don’t take my word for it, then. Go ahead and have a seat,” she acquiesced, waving at the chairs. “I’ll let Mr. Edwards know you’re here.”  


* * *

 

Mr. Edwards was an older gentleman, who looked entirely at home in his suit in the sense that one would expect him to eat, sleep, and fuck his wife in it. He smiled at Nathan when he noticed him. Rising, Nathan found himself impressed that this man had managed to get his fake smile to extend all the way to the pale blue eyes watching him over thick bifocal lenses.

“You must be Nathan Seymour! Welcome, welcome!” he exclaimed, shaking Nathan’s hand vigorously. “An honor to have a Seymour in our midst, eh?”

Nathan smiled back, easily. “I hope to make it an honor to have a Nathan in your midst as well, sir.”

“Hahaha, well said! Why don’t you come back with me, and we can get started?”

He led Nathan past the receptionist’s desk to the door leading to the main offices. As they passed, Nathan rested his arm briefly on Chanel’s counter once more. “Thank you for your help, Ms. Jessup.”

She remained silently baffled, watching him with a look both confused and pitying as he disappeared through the doorway with her boss.

“Your parents have you well trained, I see, Mr. Seymour,” Mr. Edwards laughed, patting the taller man on what he could reach of his back.

“What do you mean?”

“No need to play dumb, eh? I know some companies try to trip up their interviewees by putting a higher-up at the front desk to see how he treats ‘em.” Mr. Edwards grinned. “I promise, she’s just a secretary. No need to go out of your way.”

Nathan blinked. “Sir, I wasn’t—”

“Here we are!” Mr. Edwards pushed a door in to reveal a lavish boardroom, seven of the nine cushioned red chairs around the table filled with important-looking men who seemed not at all impatient to get back to their important-looking work. They looked up and watched and murmured to each other as Mr. Edwards ushered Nathan inside.

“Bit unusual, eh? All these people,” Mr. Edwards chuckled, leading Nathan to the empty chair at one end of the long rectangular table. He moved to sit at the other end as Nathan slowly placed his envelope line an anchor on the surface before him, the only familiar thing in the room.

“It is,” he admitted, trying not to sound too confused.

“Well, I’ll let you know,” Mr. Edwards explained, leaning across the table almost conspiratorially, “our interview process isn’t usually like this. But your reputation precedes you, Mr. Seymour. Eh? No need for that,” he added, quickly. He waved a hand at Nathan, who had been in the process of opening his envelope to pull copies of his résumé and hoping that he’d brought enough for everyone present. “All these gentlemen are here because you’ll be working with all of them quite closely. Here,” he said, gesturing to each man around the room in a pattern that seemed not to be based on their positions at the table. “This is Jerry Hanford, the head of our marketing department. Alex Jacobi, chief engineer. Bob Richards, head of accounting. Gene Ianicci’s in charge of PR. Sam Baldwin is our head of HR. Mike Van Name, in charge of production. And Elliot Landsbury is our head of research.”

All of them were too far away to shake hands, and anyway none of them seemed too keen on the idea of getting up to do it in the first place. Nathan had to settle for nodding deeply at each of them as their names were said and trying desperately to remember which matched whose face.

“Down to business, then,” Mr. Edwards wrapped up, clasping his hands together and resting them on the table in front of him. “You’re a fire-type NEXT, Mr. Seymour, eh?”

“Yes, sir,” Nathan confirmed, nodding. At least now this felt a little more like what he’d expected.

“Would you care to give us a demonstration?” At a nod from Mr. Edwards, one of the men—Baldwin, Nathan reminded himself, Sam Baldwin—stood to retrieve an old-fashioned candelabra from a display shelf on one side of the room and set it in the middle of the table on top of a large, protective trivet.

“Later, we’ll do some tests to see the extent of your powers,” Mr. Edwards explained, sensing Nathan’s feelings by the way he blinked at the five white candles sitting in their brass holders. “Just humor us, won’t you?”

Nathan sighed, but nodded. With a carefully controlled flick of his right wrist, cylinders of fire shot from his fingers to the candelabra, one for each of the plain white candles. Their wicks caught, and Nathan quickly reigned in the flames. It was a simple task, but some of the men began whispering to each other excitedly.

“Excellent! Excellent, eh?” Mr. Edwards grinned, clapping his hands together three or four times.

The men around the table nodded, with various degrees of vigor.

“Fire’s a sort of unusual power for a Hero, don’t you think?” Mr. Ianicci spoke up. Nathan, surprised, raised his eyebrows at the head of PR. “It’s generally thought of as a means of destruction.”

Nathan smiled a little. The question felt more in line with a normal interview, and he felt his growing discomfort slowly wane. “As you say, fire can be a destructive force. There are many people who fear it, sometimes even the mere thought of it. But these people are not limited to the innocent citizens of Sternbild,” he added, folding his hands on his as yet unopened envelope. “My fire can strike fear into the hearts of criminals without my ever having to use it. And if I do need to, I can stop them in their tracks. As a Hero, I’d like my fire to be like a torch, a beacon of safety for the people of this city.”

Mr. Ianicci nodded to himself, making a note in the legal pad sitting in front of him.

“Have you ever caused any significant destruction with your powers?” Mr. Richards asked, flipping through a packet of spreadsheets.

Nathan’s smile grew a little sheepish. “When my powers were first manifesting themselves,” he admitted, “I managed to light up a significant portion of a Christmas tree farm. It was very festive,” he added, with a hint of a joke. “But no one was hurt. And I assure you, my control has improved significantly since then.”

“When _did_ your powers first appear?” Mr. Hanford inquired.

“I was nearly sixteen.”

“And you were home-schooled, is that right?”

“Home-tutored,” Nathan specified, nodding. “I imagine a public school would have been difficult for a new NEXT at that time, otherwise.”

“Have you ever actually saved anyone?” Mr. Landsbury asked, in a tone that almost sounded to Nathan more a question of a _HeroTV_ fan and less that of an interviewer.

“I’m afraid most towns frown upon vigilantism,” he replied, leaving a hint of a smile on his face. “But I’m in good physical condition. I have a very strong control of my powers, and I operate well under stress. And helping people is something I’m very passionate about.”

Again, amongst the eight men, there was some shifting and murmuring.

“As you may know,” Mr. Edwards said, after having sat quietly for a while, “the companies that invest in and support _HeroTV_ ’s cast are putting their reputations, not to mention funds, on the line, especially when a new Hero is contracted. Their successes depends on their Heroes’ successes, and vice versa.”

“Of course,” Nathan agreed readily.

“The investing company ensures its Hero has the equipment to do his job. The Hero, on the other hand, becomes an indelible icon for his company.” He paused while Nathan nodded again. “Therefore, the Hero himself must be marketable to the masses. This is also an important aspect of the candidate for our position.”

“Absolutely, Mr. Edwards,” Nathan agreed again, as he ran an absent finger over the surface of his envelope.

“So…? I’m sure if you’re serious about this position, you’ve given some thought to what sort of Hero you’d like to be, eh?” He smiled at Nathan from across the table, with straight teeth colored yellow from a career of coffee and tobacco.

It was, somehow, the most unsettling smile Nathan had ever seen.

“Ah…well, yes, in fact.” As his fingers began slowly opening the clasp to the envelope, Nathan’s heart started to thump in his chest. He’d not been this nervous at an interview since his very first one, and for the first time he was beginning to question the designs sketched and scribbled and typed on the pages accompanying his résumé as they left the safety of their envelope. What was he thinking…?

Despite his hesitation, though, his hands moved without need for assistance from his brain, and when his collection of ideas were out in the open air, his legs took over their function to bring the pages across the room to Mr. Edwards.

He stood behind the Firebird Energy CEO, straight-backed, and watched him take up the papers in his hands. The sketches were on top, a sleek, hooded suit drawn and colored in fiery shades glaring with hot confidence up from the first page. A cape flowed from the shoulders of the crouching figure like a folded pair of wings.

“Very classic,” Mr. Edwards commented thoughtfully. “Maybe… _too_ classic.” He tapped a finger on the admittedly distinct gold crotch portion of the suit. “Wild Tiger’s been getting some flack for this sort of thing lately; it’s just not fashionable anymore. And these heels are just too much. You’re a very tall man already, Mr. Seymour!” he laughed, mirthlessly.

Nathan bit his tongue and stayed silent, watching.

“The cape seems extraneous,” added Mr. Van Name. “Suppose it caught on fire?”

“All fire-proof material, of course,” Nathan hastily explained. “The specifications on the suit are in my write-up.”

“Could get expensive,” Mr. Van Name whispered, rather loudly, to Mr. Richards, who was sitting right next to him.

“A car?” Mr. Edwards asked, having moved on to the second page.

“Currently, it seems like most Heroes take a long time to get to the scene of the crimes they are supposed to be stopping,” Nathan observed. “The way this vehicle is designed, it could get me there the second fastest. Maybe even first, if Wild Tiger doesn’t activate his powers right away.”

“Faster than Rock Bison’s canon?” quipped Mr. Landsbury in a challenging voice.

“I’ve heard he’s afraid of heights,” Nathan said, with only an audible hint of a grin.

“It’s very flashy,” Mr. Richards commented dryly. “And the shape is so vulgar,” he added with distaste.

“Vulgar?” Mr. Jacobi squinted at the sketch, then up at the head of accounting.

“It looks like a—a—… _member_.” He hissed the final word, as if it made him sick.

Nathan bit his tongue harder.

“I think it’s sleek,” Mr. Jacobi shrugged. Whether or not he agreed with Mr. Richards’s estimation of the vehicle’s form was hard to tell. “Hey, let me see the specs.”

Mr. Edwards absently dug through the stack until he found them and handed them over. He was staring at the first page, which had “FIRE EMBLEM” emblazoned across the top, eyes moving slowly over the typed words sitting stark black against the white paper.

The next ten minutes felt like a lifetime, punctuated not by milestones but by the turning and passing of pages, the mutters of approval and disapproval, the scribblings of pens and pencils.  Nathan was almost afraid to breathe, watching what he could see of the top of Mr. Edwards’s head, his expressions hidden.

“…Mr. Seymour,” Mr. Edwards began slowly.

 _Here it comes,_ Nathan thought, feeling his heart clench.  The entire tone of the CEO’s voice had changed, and he no longer pronounced Nathan’s surname as something to be revered.

“…Yes, sir?” he managed, already dreading what was to come.

“You do realize we couldn’t possibly endorse this…this…”

“Sir?” Nathan prompted, staunchly feigning ignorance.

Mr. Ianicci pushed wire-rimmed glasses up to the bridge of his nose, coming right out with it.  “The public could never accept an openly homosexual Hero,” he claimed, with hard confidence.

“He’s right, you know,” agreed Mr. Hanford, shaking his head.  The papers he had been skimming through he now pushed aside.  “There’s no way we could market this.  There’d be a public outcry!”

Around the table, most of the men were nodding their staunch agreement.  The back of Mr. Edwards’s head bobbed up and down.

“Gentlemen,” Nathan began, drawing on all his experience and training to remain steady, remain focused, convincing.  He had to get them to listen.  He had to get Mr. Edwards to turn around, and listen, and agree.  “The world is changing.  There is no longer as much of a stigma around homosexuality as there once was.  It is not only in _HeroTV_ ’s best interests to change with it, but to become a _supporter_ of that change.  As such a public presence, it is up to _HeroTV_ and its affiliates to pioneer the change in—”

“No wonder about the heels,” Mr. Baldwin was whispering to Mr. Richards. “Might as well turn that cape into a dress, huh?”

Nathan’s teeth clenched briefly, but he plowed on.  “To pioneer the change in social acceptance, as they have already done for NEXT in the first place.  You have the chance at this very moment, gentlemen, to make a bold statement.”  He swept his arms out to the side, entreating all of them.  “To change this city for the better, not only by introducing a new Hero to uphold justice, but to offer up a role model, a figure of—”

“Explains the car, too,” Mr. Richards said to Mr. Van Name and Mr. Hanford, not bothering to lower his voice. “God forbid these people have any sort of tact.”

Nathan’s face grew hot, eyes narrowing at the head of accounting.  “With all due respect, Mr. Richards,” he said, fighting to keep his voice steady, “I think you’re being incredibly rude.”

Mr. Edwards turned suddenly in his chair, a pacifying tone to his face and voice that seemed all but forced.  “Mr. Seymour, you must understand.  This is the kind of backlash you would need to expect if we were to go ahead with your plan.  It is as much in your interest as it is in ours to leave aside this foolishness.  Eh?”  He rose, collecting the pages from his employees and carefully ushering Nathan back to his seat.  “I’m sure that together we can come up with something more appropriate.”

As Nathan schooled his expression into something resembling calmness and nodded absently, Mr. Edwards clapped him once on the back and turned to repair to his own chair.  “That’s right.  That’s right, eh?  We have a few more acceptable ideas we’d like to throw your way.”  As he returned to his end of the table, he paused to reach over and set ablaze the packet of papers Nathan had brought with him in the hungry jowls of his own fire.

He stared as the pages caught and were dropped onto the trivet below the candelabra—and were consumed.  Mr. Edwards had sat back down in his seat and had begun to dig out some notes of his own.  “Ah!  Here, try this one, I think you’ll like—”

“Mr. Edwards,” Nathan interrupted, rising to his feet again.  “I don’t think this is going to work out.”  He was staring at the conflagration of his ideas, turning to ash in the middle of the table; the fire reflected, furious and passionate, in his eyes.  “I’m sorry to have wasted your time, and even moreso that you’ve wasted mine.”  Independently of conscious thought, he closed his diminished envelope and tucked it under his arm; as he approached the CEO, all his thoughts were focused on summoning a flame to more quickly consume the short-lived legacy of Fire Emblem, in order to put it out of its misery.

“Mr. Seymour.”  Mr. Edwards’s voice was hard, now, truly serious instead of falsely jovial.  “You do realize this is your only chance to become a Hero?”  His blue eyes looked horribly power-hungry, cast at Nathan over the tops of his bifocals.  This close to him, now, Nathan finally had to admit that the man had been this way from the very beginning.

“I will be a Hero on _my_ terms,” Nathan told him sharply, his voice dipping into a low growl, “or not at all.  Good day, gentlemen,” he ground out, and left.

“Told you,” Chanel muttered as he, head still held high, stalked past her desk on his way out.

Nathan stopped, for just a brief moment, and turned his head to frown balefully at her.  “I think, Ms. Jessup,” he said, “that you should find a better company to work for, too.  One that will appreciate you for what you’re doing for it.”

She stared at him, unable to formulate a response to that in the time before Nathan pushed the front doors open and was gone.  Behind him, the giant gilded Phoenix seemed more bedraggled than ever.


End file.
